


to dwell is to die

by FeoplePeel



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Family Bonding, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Kraglin-centric, M/M, Ravager Family Feels, Rebuilding the Ravagers, Yondu Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-07 00:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11047422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeoplePeel/pseuds/FeoplePeel
Summary: “Ain't gone more than six months without needing your old man to bail you out of some kind of trouble.”Yondu and Kraglin live in the now, rebuild their crew, and save the galaxy by virtue of being one okay dad and onevery tolerantpartner.





	to dwell is to die

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kazzashepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazzashepard/gifts), [Write_like_an_American](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_like_an_American/gifts).



> Back at it again writing in a completely different fandom. I am still very emotional about the back half of GotG2. For my best friend and beta [goddamnrey](http://goddamnrey.tumblr.com/) who cosplayed as Starlord this weekend and [write-like-an-american](archiveofourown.org/users/Write_like_an_American/pseuds/Write_like_an_American) who made an excellent Kraglin at the same time (they also largely inspired this iteration of Kraglin, including his Hraxian geneology, and have kept the Kragdu ship afloat for years). I’m a North Carolinian so any Ravager dialect I throw in is largely based on how I hear my family and the folk round here talk.
> 
> Scavenger mechanic Barish based off of [this beautiful idea](http://write-like-an-american.tumblr.com/post/161157732326/had-a-werid-dream-that-yondu-was-doing-piratey) from a lovely anon of write-like-an-american's.

Kraglin can deal with the touching. Ravagers are a tactile bunch and having misspent a majority of his life aboard their lot he had learned not to be too upset over who passed out over your knees the night before (especially when that person could be on a shift that put them in close proximity to you and an airlock the next day or, worse still, kitchen duty). But the thing is...tactile don't mean emotional.

Stars knows how Quill ended up the way he did, the leader of a group who seems to want to talk about _everything._ If Kraglin thought the others would avoid him by virtue of any lingering animosity, he had vastly underestimated their profoundly warped logic that friends are forged through explosions and unnecessary monologuing.

Even the rodent, more like Yondu than the others, takes Kraglin aside at one point to thank him for their hasty exit from the planet and even faster rescue of their leader. It's an awkward, unpleasant exchange for both of them. Quill’s Guardians are a group of reformed criminals at best; save the _literal empath_ they've recently outfitted themselves with, Kraglin shouldn't have to worry about hashing out his feelings with practical strangers.

Surprisingly it's Mantis that he sticks to when he leaves the small room they've set up as a medbay. He thought it’d be too creepy, them feelers lighting up to let him know someone was feeling just the way he felt, but it’s nice to sit and not have to _explain_ anything. She knows what’s in his head, generally, but more important than that, she knows he don't want to talk about it. It's a courtesy that Quill, having lived with him two decades, never seemed to catch.

He has his feet up on the makeshift dining table when Mantis takes a seat next to him. With a jerk of his head she touches his ankle.

“You don't feel guilty today,” Mantis sounds pleased. “But you're worried? Peter says he'll be awake soon.”

Kraglin sniffs, setting his feet on the ground and effectively pulling his ankle away from her tiny hand. “Ain't what I'm worried about.”

She waits. She's better at waiting than the others. Suppose she's had more practice.

“Things ain't gonna be normal when he wakes up,” he offers, rising and heading back towards the medbay. A moment later he hears her follow.

It's an exaggeration he can't begin to explain. They already ain't normal bordering on supernatural. Kraglin’s near always in the medbay so he's seen the others on the ship check in at least once a day, usually with excuses. He’s sure Gamora stole her transparent ‘Heard a loose grate’ routine word-for-word from an old bit Quill used when he wanted to see how his old man was holding up without seeming too clingy. Rocket and Groot stop by more than once with no excuse at all. Quill surprises him, spending almost as much time there as he does. Even called him ‘Dad’ when he thought Kraglin was far enough down the hall not to hear (because the boy may be filled with sentiment and stupidity but he weren't past the age of embarrassment apparently).

“What is being a Ravager like?”

Kraglin laughs more because the question is an unexpected one than because it's funny. “You looking to join?”

“I am a Guardian now.” She leans forward as though about to impart some great secret. “But I like your coat.”

He lifts a shoulder to examine the worn duster. It’s old and smells like leather, garbage, and smoke. Despite all of that he knows exactly what she sees in it. “I think being one might rightly negate the other.”

“No! You are! He is!” She motions to the bed where Yondu lies, looking to all the world like he'll blink awake at any moment. He doesn't, of course. That would make him too agreeable and the captain's never been that.

There's a lot he can say to that but she looks so earnest and he's tired of talking again. He brings his boots back up, this time to the corner of her chair, and she glances at his ankle with a knowing purse to her lips. “Tell you what, I'll get you a jacket made up like mine.”

When she leaves and it's just him and the sound of machines again, a voice croaks, “I'm a Guardian of the Galaxy?”

Kraglin does a poor job of hiding his reaction--a race to the side of the bed that nearly sends him careening out of his chair (thank Stars for long legs). “Yessir, and I think they've drafted me by default.”

"Kraglin,” he says and Kraglin can tell by the way Yondu's breathing that he's going to lose consciousness again, and fast. Hell, he's surprised he woke up this quick. He stares at Yondu’s face, knee shaking with mixed relief and impatience. It's like watching cold water boil, the wait before he speaks again. “Throw me out the airlock.”

He snorts. “Was death your exit strategy, Cap’n?”

“Poor plan,” Yondu’s lips curl up into some facsimile of a smile. “But better than joining my fool son’s team.” 

Kraglin watches Yondu’s breath even out before letting loose one of his own that's felt held in for weeks, if not months. Then he grins. “Whatever you say, boss.”

* * *

“I'm glad you're making friends.” Quill tries to smile at him over a bowl of grains.

This is the kinda talking he don't like doing. Nonsense talk Mantis don't even know how to dish out. From a boy he practically helped raise it’s particularly patronising and Kraglin’s stuck between the thoughts,  _Ain't that supposed to be my line?_ and _Careful, I got the last ones killed._ He decides to forgo talking all together, leveling the kind of stare at him what _used_ to be effective when he was twelve and his music was too loud after a long night shift.

“Heard Yondu woke up.” Quill gives up on smiling and goes back to the sullen moodiness that Kraglin is used to.

“You talk to him?”

“Not yet. Mantis says he feels like he's floating just below the surface. She doesn't want to push him.”

“Where’re you headin’ after Contraxia?” It must be something of a shock to Quill, because when he looks up again, his eyes are wide. “Assuming Cap’n’s not awake, he'll want to know.”

Quill keeps staring a moment longer before turning back to his bowl. “Terra. Gamora was right, I should go...back.” He trips over the last word. “I got folks there. You got folks?”

"You're thirty four,” Kraglin can feel his lip curl. It’s not spite he’s feeling, more like exasperation. “ _Now_ you want to hear where I come from?”

Quill clearly recognizes his mood--probably read it on his face often enough--cause all he does is smile. “Got nothing else to do.”

“Got plenty to do,” Kraglin grumbles. “Just your favorite past time still seems to be pestering me.” He lets the sentence hang and, when Quill only smiles wider, sighs. “Hraxia.”

“I knew _that.”_ Quill rolls his eyes. “Come on there's more.”

 _Always is, and never good otherwise it’d get said._ “No folks. Had a sister. Never liked kids--”

“No shit,” Quill says. It’s more good-natured than Kraglin’s used to hearing, so when he kicks Quill under the table he does so with less force than usual.

“You gonna keep interrupting?” Quill shoves a spoonful of that soppy grain in his mouth and stays dutifully silent. “I thought she was okay. Quiet, good at feeding herself, better than the other kids anyway. Got unlucky one day. Snatched up and killed by a Tooth Taker.” He’s met with a blank stare that don't stop and Kraglin tugs on his front teeth a little dramatically. “It's exactly what it sounds like. Unless you’ve got a kind imagination. Then it’s _worse_ than what it sounds like.”

Quill pulls a face. “Gross…”

“I was eighteen by then. Was planning to take off whatever the kid thought of it.” If Quill thinks anything of that, his face don't show it. “That just made it easier.”

“Eighteen? How old are you now?” He seems almost offended that he could have guessed at Kraglin’s age incorrectly, even more so when the other man only snorts. Gets the same look he always does after he doesn’t get his way, childish and constipated.

And apparently they've been out of the medbay for too long because the comm crackles to life beside his ear. “Obfonteri, why's this ship going at a mothball’s pace?”

“Ask Quill, I ain't flying,” Kraglin says without missing a beat. Somehow Quill manages to make the plonk of spoon hitting mushy grain sound accusing.

“Boy! You forget how to steer a ship in three months?”

“What? No!”

Kraglin smothers a grin as Quill takes a moment to finish (quicker than he would), pushes his chair out, and goes to check the controls anyway.

* * *

Kraglin convinces himself he ain't putting off a proper conversation with the captain, only taking his time walking back. Yondu could have woke up again while Kraglin was sitting there, hand-wringing by his bed in the usual way, and made him talk stuff. It's just that a lot happened between planetside and now is all and Quill will have questions. He's being polite. Respectful-like.

Mantis doesn't point out that he could help Yondu answer them--that he was there, a big part of everything--because she can feel the big lie he's telling himself. He finds her stare a little more unnerving in the aftermath of Yondu’s wakefulness.

“Cap’n said we was square,” Kraglin nods decisively.

“Square?” Mantis eyebrows draw together, her feelers moving with them.

“Even, good, all clear,” he supplies. She relaxes into a smile. “Well he implied it.”

The implication being that if things wasn't square he’d be dead before he left the _Eclector_ like the rest of the mutineers. Kraglin wonders how big a mess he’d have to make before he felt that arrow himself. After this, he's got little right to complain about Quill.

The lightest brush of fingers against the back of his hand startles him. What would be a fleeting, indiscriminate touch is an invasion from the woman beside him. There are spots of white dancing in Mantis’ dark, open eyes when he meets them. She looks away guiltily. When no recrimination follows, she speaks.

“I know how you feel.” Kraglin wants to state the obvious but she's speaking over him, pointing to her temple. “Up here. Sometimes I think everything that happened on Ego’s planet was my fault.

“I don't know much about you,” Kraglin motions to her with a downward jerk of his head. “But I don't think you could have destroyed a whole planet on your lonesome.”

“I suppose not. And you could not have killed every man on your crew who wanted your captain gone.”

“So what are we moping for?”

“I suppose it's because we allowed other, terrible things to happen.” She tilts her head, pouting prettily. “It feels unkind to say, but I don't remember their names. The children your captain brought,” she elaborates. “I met them too. They were kind to me and they died and...I wondered why. Then I would put Ego to sleep again. I touched his mind and I understood. And I was convinced it was for the best.”

Ravagers aren't emotional but they are tactile. For Mantis the two are one and the same. He places a hand on her head and ruffles her hair to get her smiling again.

* * *

Kraglin waits outside, reminding himself he don't need to protect the captain from the rodent and the tree while the two of them chime in between whatever Quill has to say. For whatever reason Rocket and Groot _like_ Yondu, and Kraglin would bet units on the captain trying to woo the two onto whatever kind of crew he's claiming he has next chance he's alone with them.

Quill leaves last, trailing out behind the others with a quick dip of his head at Kraglin as he passes.

“Boy’s made it clear he’s not gonna let me forget about this for a while.” Yondu says when Kraglin takes up position next to the foot of the bed, resisting the urge to put his feet up like he's used to.

He lets eyes settle on the new implant instead, months long in development, hidden in a drawer next to something called a Zune. The _fatherly notions_ are something Kraglin’s known about for decades--even managed to get half a handle on--but he's still adjusting to the sight of the new fin on Yondu’s scalp. No different, only differently displayed.

He hears the last of the footsteps in the hall recede before he throws his feet up, ankles crossed. “When does he ever?”

“But this time he’s got evidence.” Yondu takes in a deep breath. “He done a good job. Guess that means I didn’t do half bad raising him.”

“Yessir,” Kraglin nods slowly.

The tension breaks quiet-like, with the long look Yondu levels at him. When Cap’n wants you to pay attention he don't need to shout.

“You can quit holding your breath every time I take a breath. I ain't forgotten but...it's done.”

Kraglin raises a brow. "That it?”

“You think I ain't made mistakes too? You were there for most of them. Saw the biggest one almost kill me.”

“Not gonna lie,” Kraglin pushes out a laugh, nasal and inadequate. “Thought that was it for us.”

“Hell of a way to go out, eh, Obfonteri?”

“You blew up all your toys.” He reaches over to open the metal shades over the porthole. There's no light, save the stars, but Cap’n will enjoy the distraction. Yondu catches his wrist and pulls him down.

“Not all of them.”

* * *

There's no going back from a declaration of filial loyalty as Drax had rather eloquently put it. But old habits are ingrained for a reason and, new found sentiment or not, there's only so much time Yondu and Quill can spend around one another before the rubber band along which their emotional bond snaps back to something comfortably loose. Quill's paid his debt with the troll stunt as far as Kraglin’s concerned, but he’ll be damned if they stick around long enough to add more on that account and they'll fly back to Berhert and fetch what's left of the _Milano_ after they'd stripped her for junk before Kraglin lets Quill gets his hands on the last pieces of the old _Eclector._ Yondu has the right idea leaving now.

Kraglin has to drag himself away when Quill haggles for a small ship, fighting that voice inside trying to escape and correct the younger man. He's an adult now. Gotta haggle for himself even if he could've knocked _at least_ three hundred more units off of that price by reputation alone.

Mantis follows and Kraglin figures, since she’s been such a pal, he’ll take her to the Iron Lotus and introduce her to his favorite Lovebot. Mantis is torn between confusion and amazement at not being able to feel what the other is feeling. Kraglin ain't against voyeurism as a rule, but it feels like something of a special moment.

“I'll just leave you two alone to, uh...talk.”

He thumbs over his shoulder at the row of bordellos when Drax demands to know where his bug friend is. The bulging stack of muscles seems oddly placated by the idea that his friend might be having sex with someone so long's that someone ain't Kraglin, which is...understandable.

Yondu raises a questioning brow. “You introduce her to Peri?”

“Yessir!” 

“Good man,” He slings an arm over Kraglin’s neck, squeezing his shoulder, pulling him down and jostling him about.

Gamora looks horrified at Quill’s snort and he holds his hands up in mock surrender. “It's fine! They're professionals! Or...so I hear.” After a longer moment under her stone-faced glare he backpedals. “I mean, Kraglin how dare you!”

“Help me load our supplies, you moron.” Gamora tosses the bag she kept at the foot of her bed into Quill’s arms. Judging by the slump of his shoulders it was heavy and, knowing Gamora, filled with very pointy objects.

Yondu ignores all of them with a roll of his eyes. “Sure you don't want to come with us, Rat?”

Rocket’s chuckle is dry. “Someone needs to  fly the ship without crashing it.”

Quills stops loading the (overpriced) ship, to snap. “I'm standing right here!”

“What about you, Twig?”

“I am Groot.”

Rocket takes over, hand placed on the tree's head. “I'm sure raising Quill was a test of patience and endurance the likes of which no creature has known before or since--”

“Again! I can hear you!”

“But this one? Not sure you could handle him on your own.”

“He say all that?” Yondu grunts, the corner of his mouth fighting a grin.

“No _I_ said that,” Rocket picks Groot up by one of his thin arms and hoists him to his shoulder. “He said something we're going to have a long chat about on the trip to Terra.”

“Sure about that, son?” Yondu raises both his brows in Peter’s direction.

It has to be _Peter_ now because if Yondu’s insisting on using the opportunity he's been handed to show off all that affection he's stowed away, with _open worry_ and _son_ , Kraglin might as well have the decency to call the kid by his first name in his own head.

“Not really,” Peter’s smile is closer to a wince. He reaches up to pat Yondu’s arm. Kraglin guesses that, whatever they talked about, they haven't quite worked their way up to hugs yet. “I'll comm if something happens.”

“Course you will!” Yondu unwraps himself from Kraglin to cross his arms. “Ain't gone more than six months without needing your old man to bail you out of some kind of trouble.”

Peter's smile is a little more relaxed this time. “Take care of yourself, Old Man.”

* * *

Stakar is waiting for them on Contraxia too, though they don't know it until they get to The Red Coin. He's not smiling but he raises a glass when Yondu enters and just the fact that they're in the same bar for the first time in Kraglin’s memory is enough to bring an answering smile to his face.

The others aren’t so keen. Some are curious, others walk out entirely, taking crew and coin with them. Stakar might have forgiven his stray ward, but it's going to take a while for that whisper to pierce through the thick skulls of ninety nine factions. Yondu rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Gotta reputation to rebuild, I reckon.”

They head to Knowhere first. Don't need big jobs, not for two people and whoever they can get while their names are irrevocably tied to the Guardians. Time will tell if that's for good or ill.

They don't mean to meet Nebula on Knowhere but their offer to take her on as crew is turned down as swiftly as her sister’s. They part ways with a very different promise than that of the Guardians. They need a crew and Nebula promises to send whoever she finds their way in exchange for...well there's no telling, but she's sure a Ravager faction can get whatever _it_ is. Yondu likes the gal. Kraglin--who’s been on the receiving end of the quirked grin Yondu throws her direction more than once--thinks it has something to do with her shooting him.

Rebuilding a crew from the ground up isn't easy but they're used to working with no ground beneath their feet. Nebula keeps up her end before they leave, sending a pilot their way who don't talk unless severely pressed. Every action he takes is full of gratitude stead of fear. It ain't the way they're used to running but after everything that happened Kraglin’s not sure they can get that back. Not sure if Yondu wants it, truthfully. And where Cap’n goes, he dutifully follows.

* * *

Grand gestures mean something in everyone's world--blowing up a dictator, blowing up a ship, blowing up a planet--but Kraglin’s been with Yondu long enough to recognize the smaller signs. He knows things are finally about as about as normal as they're gonna get when he lays eyes on the first trinket beside Yondu’s drumming fingers.

They're up to seven now--crew, not trinkets--including the two of them. One of the girls, Barish, is a skilled mechanic and young enough that Yondu feels like leaving Kraglin alone to show her the ropes. If he had been asked before it would have, theoretically, annoyed him but there's a sort of established balance to their relationship. Besides this one don't run her gob like Peter did.

The Guardians are something suspiciously close to friends after half a year but it doesn't stop Kraglin going over the packages he gets from them with a scanner.

“Why’d you tell ‘em I had a birthday, Cap’n?” He asks. Yondu slings the towel around his neck and strides, naked and unselfconscious, from the bathroom to the bed. He shrugs before landing face down with neither care nor grace. Kraglin reads the entire exchange as the conversation Yondu had _meant_ to have which was: _They’s family now which means they're your family even if I have to drag your scrawny ass along kicking and screaming._

Most of them pitched in for a knife (Drax’s idea) and Kraglin is equal parts happy and uncomfortable that they got his taste tuned so fine.

Peter and Mantis send separate packages along. Peter’s contains some rock formation that only grows in the caves on Hraxia. It's shitty and sentimental. He ain’t been back home in years and ain't planning on it. Mantis bought him new boots identical to his old with thicker soles. He'll let her hug him next time they scoop ‘em out of trouble.

“Whenever you're through taking your sweet time, I got your real present over here.”

He sets the rock aside, more carefully than it warrants. It's the only thing that’s his on the small bedside table cluttered with bits and bobs.

Maybe he'll give Quill a...handshake or something.

* * *

If Kraglin thought Peter’s trip to Terra those months back would do something to...who knows, _normalize_ the kid, he guessed dead wrong. They ain’t got much work as it stands (never mind they don't need much, that _ain't the point_ ), but seems like every other job they're skipping out on to drag Peter out of some mess.

So, what's new?

After their latest screw up (something to do with a skirmish on Galador and blah blah who cares, Kraglin ain't getting paid to remember politicians), Peter and Yondu are making apologies. _Gamora_ ’s stuck patching Kraglin up and whether she's still cruising on adrenaline or it's just her nature, she has the exact opposite of a gentle touch. Kraglin winces with every swipe of the antiseptic pad.

“Quit whining, you baby,” she says but there's no heat behind her words. “There. We can wrap your shoulder now. Groot, can you bring me the...never mind. Mantis? Gauze?”

She spends a fair bit of time picking at the bindings so Kraglin feels like he can't say he doesn't need them by the time they start to unravel in her hand. “You say your pilot was sent by my sister?”

“And our mechanic,” Kraglin pulls his arm out of her grasp and takes the gauze. Firm fingers he can handle, but wasted supplies he won't have. “Hell, most of our crew at this point.”

She stares at his arm, judging the rough job he's doing patching himself up he figures, until he catches her expression.

“I can give you her comm link?” He offers slowly.

She offers a smile in return. “No that's...that's all right. She knows our ship, she know our navpoint.”

Yondu and Peter return with the usual bombast, making a beeline to the pair. The captain bats at Kraglin’s hands until he has control of the gauze and finishes bandaging with an efficiency neither Gamora nor Kraglin could hope to match.

“Y'all talking about yer sister?” Yondu tears off the end of a strip with his teeth and Gamora nods. “You know, Green? Sometimes gals like when you chase em!”

Gamora rolls her eyes, but her mouth is turned up at the corners. Yondu counts it as a win that, before they leave, she asks for the comm link.

* * *

Rest of the crew don't have a problem when Nebula shows up with a pack and takes one of the bunks for herself without asking whose it was. Kraglin had meant it when he told Gamora that her sister sent them most the crew. What he hadn't felt the need to add was that most of them looked to be saved from somewhere. Cap’n don't ask questions neither but it's an easy guess that Nebula wants to be in the same corner of the galaxy as her sister. This ship is there often enough.

She’s closest to the comm, the next time Peter calls. “Yondu! You near abouts Nova?”

“Closer than you are,” her eyes flick across the charts by Kraglin’s hand. She hasn't quite learned chain-of-command and who answers which calls yet, but Kraglin’s seen her fight. He ain't gonna be the one to tell her off. “Why?”

“Nebula? Nice jacket...” Peter trails off cautiously.

Yondu levels a flat look in Nebula's direction before he switches the feed to his chair. “What do you want now, boy?”

“Some of us caught a bug on Rabos. All of us, really, ‘cept Groot.”

“Yeah I'm guessing the twig’s pretty impervious to most stuff us squishies need to avoid,” he replies absently, mouthing the name of the planet over the screen to Kraglin while Peter continues his explanation of their recent exploit.

“Valgiri,” Kraglin calls down to medical, where the overly enthusiastic Galadorian they'd picked up is flipping through an honest-to-gods book. “You heard of Rabos?”

“We're not heading there are we?” Xe puts down the book and leans over the keyboard to show off bright white teeth. “That quad is littered with disease. Not that I'm complaining! More work for me.”

Kraglin cuts xir off with a growl. Ravagers shouldn't be so damn _clean._ And doctors shouldn't be so cheerful. “Any specific disease?”

“There's a particularly virulent strain of the Chattar Virus.” Xe taps away At the keys for a moment. “Rabos should be safe though, chief. Planet full of empaths.”

Kraglin takes in a pained sigh before he turns back to the captain’s chair just in time to hear Peter say, “Mantis can convince whoever's flying that they feel well, but it makes her more sick every time, so we don't want to try it too long.”

“Probably how it spread so quickly in the first place,” Nebula says smoothly and then, under her breath, “idiots.”

“You don't let her touch none of y'all no more,” Yondu rubs a hand over his brow. “Just let whatever this is run its course.”

Valgiri pipes up from Kraglin’s elbow. “I should point out that Chattar _can be_ lethal if left untreated for two weeks--”

“Should you?” Kraglin hisses before cutting the link to his feed.

“Dey says he can requisition some medicine for us but we can't risk going planetside with this. He sanctioned it to be delivered off world but…” Peter pulls a face.

“You've made a few enemies I know how it is, son,” Yondu finishes for him. “Just wire me the usual payment for a transport job and we'll be on our way lickety-split.”

“Payment? Did you hear Val? I'm _dyin_ ’, you heartless monster!”

“You _ain't_ dying, princess.” Yondu says but Peter’s disappeared in a fit of coughs. Kraglin motions for Prissel to take over the controls and makes his way to stand beside the captain's chair. The look Yondu narrows at the screen is almost desperate. “Boy? Boy!”

“M’all right, stop yelling,” Peter’s face swims back into view and Kraglin splays a hand casually between the captain’s shoulder blades.  “I'll have the funds wired to you tonight.”

“Boy ain't nothing but a big problem on a long leash,” Yondu says when the feed cuts out.

Kraglin removes his hand when he feels the captain fold into his usual undisciplined slouch. “Didn't look too good.”

“Yeah, well...Tattle!” The youngest of the crew slinks around the chair like he'd been waiting for the word. Kraglin thinks he might live in the vents but he's got no way to prove it yet. “You and Barish get to the back and give us a boost.”

“Yessir!”

“Prissel, get us to Nova.”

* * *

It's a simple job and they’re pulled up next to the _Mornay_ within the week. The only issue arises when Yondu tries to leave the ship with Nebula in charge.

“No,” Nebula doesn't shout but raising her voice is enough to catch the crew’s attention.  “I mean...you'll _need_ me to administer the antidote. Can you really trust the inoculations you received on Nova? Should anything go wrong Obfonteri will likely not be immune whereas my enhancements ensure that I--”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yondu waves off the rest of her sentence pushing Kraglin towards the captain's chair and motions her forward. “First is supposed to stay on the ship anyhow. Save the excuses for your sister.”

Kraglin stays at the helm, trying to relax and doing a poor job of it until Prissel joins Barish and Tattle in the engine room for a game of Junk Chunk. When Yondu comes back he’s alone too.

“Drax went down like a damn Zubak,” he pushes Kraglin’s legs off of the arm of his chair in lieu of greeting, coming around to face him. "Difference is he stayed down.”

Kraglin plants his feet on the floor, trapping the captain between his knees. “How's Mantis?”

“Little disease carrier’s doing okay. Don't think the poor kid had so much as a sniffle back on Ego’s planet,” he runs a finger under his nose, looking to the space above Kraglin’s shoulder. “Peter's having some breathing issues. Think he's not used to being so mortal.”

Because he's not yet suicidal Kraglin doesn't say, _You're not used to it either, Cap’n._ He does think it mighty hard though.

“You ain't feeling…,” Kraglin searches the familiar scars along the other man’s face. “I mean you're…”

Yondu’s eyes narrow to slits and Kraglin prepares for, at worst, a punch, at best, a command to shut the hell up (and Cap’n has been leaning more the latter these days). He’s not expecting him to snap forward, mouth colliding violently with Kraglin’s in a kiss that has the same force as a punch. Kraglin's fairly sure he's gonna find at least one tooth a little looser after this.

He ain't complaining though.

* * *

They stay docked up next to the _Mornay_ for a week, looking after things. Kraglin’s never had a vacation the way the soaps on the net show them, but he imagines that this is what they must feel like; laying on the floor of the main cabin, ignoring crew and jobs alike. In all honesty it weren't much different than how he’s been allowed to act the past year, with the exception that the past week’s seen Cap’n ignore jobs too, leaning on the edge of his desk, usually with something along the lines of, _Kraglin, you remember that time?_

Kraglin laughs and they say no more, because it's a self-completing sentence, always. Of course he remembers.

Today he sits on the edge of the bed and Kraglin sits up, elbows on his knees. “Kraglin, remember that time Peter tried to teach Tullk and the boys that, uh, tug-a-rope game?”

Kraglin laughs but by the look on his face clearly Yondu is expecting more this time. “Yeah, I remember,” he adds. “Tore Horuz’s hands all to shit. Don't know what he was thinking, pulling ten crew.”

Yondu slaps his knee. “That's right, it was _ten_!” He laughs. “What a jackass!”

They don't do this often because despite all the pretty words between them, it still hurts to remember everyone they cared about from the _Eclector_ is dead. Both sit on a list of why they're the reason. Both wake up and hit the ground running for their own reasons too.

Yondu’s cost them forty million--more if Kraglin thinks about it--but...kids are expensive. He counts himself among Yondu’s reasons on days he's feeling full of himself.

Kraglin’s reasons not to dwell are just as simple. He has a crew again; he's finally learned their names. The galaxy needs him, somehow, because if he keeled over tomorrow apparently its Guardians would die of some backwater planet plague. He's got new boots and a shitty rock from a planet he ain't been back to in years.

Today, at least, he has Yondu.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr [here](http://feoplepeel.tumblr.com/) !


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